


oh how blissful, to only be loved

by hint2bee



Category: Emma (2020), Emma (TV 2009), Emma - Jane Austen
Genre: F/M, Fluff, Wedded bliss
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-14
Updated: 2020-05-14
Packaged: 2021-03-02 23:42:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24175291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hint2bee/pseuds/hint2bee
Summary: Short and sweet ruminations on loving and being loved.
Relationships: George Knightley/Emma Woodhouse
Comments: 6
Kudos: 136





	oh how blissful, to only be loved

Emma stands at the window, rain pounding the pavement outside. She’s quiet as she watches the wind lashing the trees, the leaves strewn across the grass, and she thinks of how tomorrow, she will walk among the dew-cold grass, the hem of her dress delicately pinned slightly higher, to pluck dying leaves from the ground, examining their veins in the clear sunlight. Mr. Knightley will inevitably laugh at her fascination, not unkindly, and she will lecture her fiancé on the various benefits of leaves and how they are essential for growth, and he will watch her, that gentle, enamored look in his eyes that makes so much sense now.

She is quickly startled from her reverie by a clap of thunder.

“Emma, stand away from the windows, you will catch something!” a stern voice, her father’s, snaps from an adjoining room, and Emma obediently steps back, if not rolling her eyes in a little distaste for the intrusion in her quiet contemplation, which she would under no uncertain terms call fantasizing. She presses her fingers to her lips, twisting them slightly in a frown, as another clap of thunder rattles the house, and another, far away, echoes its call. She’s quite upset, Mr. Knightley was meant to come this evening, but at this rate she will not see him until tomorrow. She’s surprised, it took such a short amount of time for her to forget the reality of solace and she’s unsure how to understand it. Perhaps it’s for the better, that she forgets how being truly alone feels. That is, it would be for the better if she was not missing her Mr. Knightley so much right now.

Then, she hears footfalls on the steps.

“I hope you don’t mind, I let myself in.” Mr. Knightley is veritably soaked from head to toe as he crests the stairs, and Emma has a chide on her lips before she can stop herself.

“What on _Earth_ are you doing here? The wrath of God plays on outside, and you’re here for what, a chat?” she says, but she cannot stop herself from smiling softly at the man, who smiles back at her.

“My dear Emma. You wouldn’t have me missing our little chats for all the fire and brimstone in the world,” he says, and Emma scoffs, walking towards him, her hand at his shoulder, pushing back his coat, which is all but ruined with the downpour, and has done little to prevent the rain from reaching his suit. He doesn’t protest as she pulls off his coat first, and then his vest

“My God. You look a mess,” she says, resting her hand on his top button of his shirt, before pausing, realizing the rashness of her actions. Mr. Knightley laughs lightly, before bringing up his hands to rest on Emma’s wrists, not removing them, instead choosing to smile softly at her.

“And you would have me bare on your foyer, Miss Woodhouse?”

This earns him a shove from Emma, and there’s righteous, amused fire in her eyes as she opens her mouth to begin haranguing him for his off color joke, before he lets go of her wrists, sliding down her arms and pulling her into a kiss, their bodies pressed close and Emma, despite the chill in the house and in Mr. Knightley’s clothes, feels so very warm.

“I came for you, Emma. You’re… an inevitability. I knew it might very well storm but I do not think I would have been able to handle a day without seeing you. My dearest Emma,” he says as he pulls back, murmuring into Emma’s cheek, and Emma laughs.

“Oh, you would have me catching a cold against my father’s will, Mr. Knightley?” Mr. Knightley laughs.

“I think your father would be quite understanding in my cherish of you, my dear Emma.”

“Emma, who are you speaking to?” a stern voice shouts, and Emma laughs. 

“Right on cue. Father, Mr. Knightley has braved hell and high water to come for tea.”

“Surely Donwell Abbey is not so desolate of supplies that you must come to Hartfield for tea,” Mr. Woodhouse gripes, but Emma can see the amusement in his eyes, devoid of any true malice.

“Not so much devoid of supplies as it is of such charming company,” Mr. Knightley remarks, and Emma realizes he hasn’t moved away from her yet.

“Right. Well. I’m off for a nap. Emma, fetch Mr. Knightley some dry clothes,” Mr. Woodhouse says, and Emma calmly smiles as he father turns and walks to his bedroom.

“I believe we have some spare in here,” Emma says, taking Mr. Knightley’s hand, leading him to the guest bedroom.

“How are you, my dear Emma?” Mr. Knightley says, sitting on a couch as Emma rifles through the closet, searching for clothes.

“You ask as if I had not just seen you yesterday,” Emma says, turning to smirk at him.

“Ah, but you know what they say of fair-weather… fiancées,” Mr. Knightley says, and he’s got a mischievous smirk as Emma turns around and throws a bundle of clothes at his face.

“You know very well that is not a literal turn of phrase. Besides,” and she tilts her head, coyly, “if you thought the situation was as such, I would anticipate you would not have made the trek here, in fair or foul weather, unless you were just deeply enamored with me.”

“Oh, woe unto me, my true intentions have been revealed,” he says, looking at her just as coyly back.

“Woe unto you indeed, Mr. Knightley,” Emma says, and Mr. Knightley smiles at her as if she is all the stars in the sky.

“You know we are betrothed, you may call me George now, dear,” he says, softly, and Emma turns to stare at him, contemplatively.

“Mr. Knightley, I do not think I shall yet give you the satisfaction.”

And with that she flounces from the room, and Mr. Knightley is left in amused silence.

* * *

They get married on a quiet spring morning, with the tulips still in bloom. There’s a particular golden quality, almost akin to a halo, surrounding Emma’s curls as she talks with her sister and Harriet, and Mr. Knightley is completely taken away from the conversation Mr. Elton has roped him into.

“You’re not paying attention,” Mr. Elton says.

“What? No, forgive me, you make such an enrapturing point about the ethical implications of Plato’s philosophies,” Mr. Knightley remarks.

“Why, Mr. Knightley, we had long since left that conversation,” Mr. Elton says, a coy smirk on his face.

“He was clearly so enamored with the point that he elected to pontificate on its grander meaning now, he’s a man of learning, after all,” Mr. Martin says, and Mr. Elton furrows his brows, before turning, muttering some excuse, to go talk to his wife.

“Such a charming couple,” Mr. Knightley says.

“I cannot imagine how they managed to find each other,” Mr. Martin says, and Mr. Knightley laughs quietly, turning to his friend.

“Perhaps it was divine interference.” This earns a laugh from Mr. Martin, who turns to watch his own wife, who is wildly gesturing about some joyous triviality to Emma, who nods and smiles in turn.

“Divine interference certainly puts its due diligence in,” Mr. Martin says, and Harriet makes eye contact with Mr. Martin, ducking and blushing.

“I hope you enjoy the rest of your wedding, my dear friend,” Mr. Martin says, walking towards Harriet with a smile on his face.

Mr. Knightley turns back towards Emma, who has left Harriet and her sister, walking towards the garden. Mr. Knightley looks quickly around the party, sees no one’s immediate attention is on him, and follows her quickly.

“How are you enjoying your wedding my dear?” he asks, as he watches Emma trace circles on a rose’s petals, looking up at him with a coy smirk.

“It’s so much like all the other parties, except I’m expected to be present at all times which is rather dull, I would much rather be exploring the gardens alone.”

Alone. This causes Mr. Knightley start. “Oh. Uh. I will take my leave, then.”

“No, silly. Alone is with you now,” Emma says, smiling at him, lovingly, “and that is what is most perfect about it.” She walks up to Mr. Knightley, and, standing on tiptoe, kisses his forehead.

“My dear Emma,” he says, stroking her hair.

“My beloved George,” she says in turn, and heat flushes his cheeks, and he kisses her on the lips.

“Shall we take a walk, Mrs. Knightley?” he asks, and he feels his heart flutter as she giggles.

“That sound splendid, George.”

If the people at the party miss them, they’ll just have to find out later.

**Author's Note:**

> This one goes out to Jules who made me watch Emma (2009) but all I was envisioning during this was Emma. (2020) Knightley and Emma. If I misspelled Knightley as Knightly please feel free to hang me for high treason.


End file.
